


Lives & Likes

by Thankyoumissvanjie (caringis_notanadvantage)



Series: The Darkest Timeline [4]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst, Dom/sub Undertones, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Like so much angst, M/M, Smut, less talking more angsting I say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caringis_notanadvantage/pseuds/Thankyoumissvanjie
Summary: What happens when you've finally said what you wanted to say?When you feel like you lost the best thing in your life?How do you move on?Who knows?Not Brooke and Vanjie, that's for sure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to TheArtificialDane who is the best bro to have ever bro'ed.   
Without her this would still be a note in a word doc. <3 <3 
> 
> Enjoy the angst. It's gon' be wild.

_“You know what the worst part is? I fucking love you. And the idea of leaving you is literally breaking my heart. But I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”_

_“We’re done”_

* * *

  
Everything happened in flashes.

The sound of the door closing behind him.

_“We’re done.”_

Sitting in a taxi that was speeding away from the venue, eyes burning with unshed tears. His chest still aching with the loss of his heart.

_“We’re done.”_

The burn of the cigarette smoke in his lungs as he found himself standing outside the airport, body shivering despite the warm temperature.

_“We’re done.”_

José’s surprised and hurt expression flashed before Brock’s eyes every time he blinked.

His heartstrings felt as if they were trying to pull him back, making every step difficult. As if his body was tryin to fight against his mind.

His feet were ready to run back and apologise.

To pick up the notebook from the floor and explain that it was all just a big misunderstanding.

Kiss him.

Hold him.

But it was too late.

Brock had not only closed that door but slammed it shut.

_“We’re done.”_

His eyes couldn’t settle on anything in the airport. They kept on jumping from a check-in sign to a magazine stand and then over to the big screen with departure times.

His ticket was for tomorrow. He couldn’t remember which airline or even at what time.

It all seemed impossible.

He was dying for a cigarette, a shot of patron or both. His emotions all muddled together until they turned into nothing.

He couldn’t do this.

_“We’re done.”_

With shaking hands he pulled out his phone, dialing the one person he knew could help him.

The idea of figuring out airline fees and speaking with anybody was unbearable, instantly making his breath hitch in pre-panic.

_“Hey,”_ the crisp voice of his best friend filled Brock’s ear, making his eyes blur and burn with unshed tears.

Shit, he was a mess.

“I need you to book me a flight, now,” he knew that it was a matter of seconds before Steve clocked his acting skills. Yet, for some reason, Brock still tried to keep his voice steady, holding on to his composure by a single, flossing thread.

_“And hello to you too, sunshine. How was the last show?”_ His voice made Brock ache for home. For his best friend, a hug and comfort. The mentioning of the show made his chest ache with the emptiness that was left behind by him dumping his heart on the floor of the dressing room.

“Steve. I need to get home,” his desperation forced his voice into a higher tone, making Brock wince. He was such a bad actor.

_“You have a flight out tomo-“_ Steve’s voice sounded like home. Yet, the worrying note was making it difficult for Brock to keep the tears at bay.

He needed his best friend.

“Now, Steve. I don’t care how expensive or how long it will take, I need to not be here,” he knew that he was being rude, being the boss of your best friend a difficult balancing act on most days, but right now he didn’t care.

Brock needed distance, even if everything inside of him was screaming at him, willing him to turn around.

To go back to him.

For a couple of seconds, silence rang over the line.

And then.

_“You okay?”_ How Brock managed to not break down and cry right there in the middle of the airport was a mystery and a feat in itself.

For once, Brock didn’t lie.

“Not even close,” His laugh was hard and humourless, doing nothing to sate Steve’s worry.

It might be hubris, but he was not going to risk Instagram glowing up with candid pictures of him crying his heart out at a check-in desk.

He could do that later.

Preferably in the privacy of his home, with a cigarette and alcohol in his blood.

Or even better, in the arms of his best friend.

His best friend who would not be in Nashville.

_“Chicago?”_ Trust Steve to go straight to the point, not wasting time on why’s and when’s, but just asking about where he wanted to arrive.

As he looked down at his shaking hand that was gripping the handle of his silver suitcase he knew that he needed company.

Afraid of what would happen if he was left to his own devices.

“Please,” His voice cracked as he forced the words out. Not caring that he sounded desperate.

_“I’m on it.”_

* * *

_“I can’t do this anymore,”_

Standing in the middle of the abandoned dressing room, José felt as if his whole being had been torn apart.

The sounds of Brock teary voice echoing through his head.

He had never seen him like that.

So broken. 

So sad.

So… Done.

_“I can’t do this anymore,”_

He had picked up the notebook, though he was still too afraid of what was in it.

Would it be bad?

Would it be good?

Would it be a classical fucked up version of both?

Even though Brock had given it to him, it felt wrong to read it, as if he was being a shady hoe by doing it.

The tears had stopped a while back, leaving José with salty residue on his cheeks.

Not that he cared.

Suddenly the door opened and in stepped Nina, out of drag with a makeup palette in her hand.

“Brooke? Oh, Vanj! You seen her? ‘cause she forgot he-” She stopped in her tracks as she noted José’s broken sad face. Her expression softened as she walked over to him. Trying to offer him some comfort by softly rubbing his shoulder. “what’s wrong?”

The words were lodged somewhere deep inside his throat, as Brock’s broken voice kept on playing on repeat.

_“I can’t do this anymore,”_

Like a remix from hell, it echoed and vibrated worse than a RuPaul song.

_“I can’t do this anymore,”_

His eyes were burning, as his grip tightened on the notebook.

He couldn’t look Nina in the eye, couldn’t let her see how much he had managed to fuck up what could potentially be the best thing in his stupid hoe life.

Turns out he didn’t have to explain anything as a shocked gasp from her, made José raise his head, only to be faced with Nina’s shocked expression, as her eyes were fixed on the notebook.

“Shit,” the word was whispered rather than spoken, but it told everything José needed to know.

_“I can’t do this anymore,”_

“You know what this be?” Nina only nodded, still looking shocked at the fact that José was now in possession of the ratty book.

The small nod seemed to break something inside José as the tears started to fall in big, fat drops down his cheeks. His breath hitching as a loud sob escaped his lips.

Nina gathered him in his arms, shushing him and trying to bring him some comfort.

“I really gone and done fucked up, Miss Nina,” his words were almost incoherent, as they were uttered through gasps and hitched, his runny nose making him sniffle.

“I think you both have, honey”

* * *

  
The fact that it had taken him over 14 hours to get to Chicago from Stockholm didn’t matter. The moment Brock laid eyes on her best friend, he felt as if he could finally, finally, breathe again.

His earnest eyes, and welcoming arms all he needed.

As he stopped right in front of him, his suitcases rattling and bumping into him, Brock felt as if his knees were about to buckle under him.

“Well don’t you look like shit?” Though Steve was smiling, his worried eyes were scanning Brock from top to toe. Noting, how despite the bulky red hoodie, that his best friend had lost weight since they had last seen each other.

The circles under his eyes the size of Texas, and his face paler than his Canadian roots could be blamed for.

“I…” Brock felt his facade crumble in Steve’s presence, almost falling into his arms, he started crying.

He forced himself to keep quiet, to not garner more attention than needed. The tears silently dampening Steve’s shirt.

They stood like that for a moment.

“What the hell happened?” The question was whispered soothingly, as Steve’s hand rubbed his back, trying to transfer some warmth and comfort to Brock, who was silently shaking in his arms.

“Nothing? Everything? I fucked up.” The desperation in Brock’s voice confirmed all of Steve’s worst suspicions.

This had to do with José.

As all bad and painful things had done ever since the two of them broke up.

“Brock…” The mentioning of his name seemed to spark him back into action, as Brock leaned back, quickly drying his eyes, finding a pair of sunglasses from the depths of his pockets.

Vulnerability Hour seemed to be over, at Steve watched his best friend meticulously tape himself back together, pasting an indifferent expression on his face, while the sunglasses hid his pained eyes from view.

“I need a drink,” the statement was spoken with an authority that was difficult to challenge, as Brock gathered up all of his backs, Steve helping him by pushing the luggage cart.

“As your manager, I would strongly disapprove of that decision,”

“And as my best friend?”

“We have tequila at home,”

* * *

The plain front page of the notebook seemed to be mocking José.

He had been staring at it for the better part of an hour, trying to gather the courage to open it.

Maybe it was the answer to all his hopes and dreams.

Maybe it would crush them.

Brock’s angry words and tears eyes haunted him.

He had given it to him.

José should read it, even if it would hurt. Especially if it did.

He deserved it all.

With trepidation he turned the page, his eyes slowly tracing the angry letters.

> ** _“I think what I miss the most is waking up with you. Seeing you fight against the morning….”_ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, so the truth is that I was going to be at Roscoe’s tonight for market days, but I’ve had to cancel, ‘cause I’m ill,” his eyes shifted downwards, reading a comment on the screen, “Yeah, I know. I look like shit,” the small laugh seemed sadder than anything, but instead of wallowing, Brock kept on going.
> 
> “It sucks, cause’ I was really looking forward to the gig. I love Roscoes and Chicago. I promise you all that we are already trying to find a different date to come back for all of you who were hoping to see me,” laying back down on the couch, Brock seemed sadder than before, his brows wrinkling and his mouth downturned. In the back, a voice could be heard, though it was indistinguishable.
> 
> “I hate cancelling, and I would have gone too, but... Steve said no. Yeah, dad put his foot down,” his laugh was sweet, though his eyes seemed sad. For a moment Brock read over the comments, until he suddenly turned the camera around, showing Steve on the screen, sitting in a chair typing away on his Mac.

Steve tried to steel himself for what was about to happen, as he entered the living room. Brock was hidden underneath tons of blankets, not caring that it was sweltering hot and midday.

The only thing visible was the top of his head and face, as he looked intently at his phone, his air pods in his ears.

“Brock?” leaning over, he could see Vanjie’s face staring back at him, doing his usually posing for the Instagram stories.

Why was he torturing himself like this?

“Yeah?” Brock didn’t peel his eyes away from the screen, though he did take out one of the air pods.

“Listen… Uhm, I’ve cancelled the Roscoe’s gig tomorrow,” Steve knew those words would gather a reaction, as Brock almost flew up from his blanket fort of sulking.

“No, you have not,” his eyes were like lightning, his jaw set and mouth turned downward. This was the prissy ass talent, that Steve spent most of his time dealing with, though no one else ever saw this side of Miss Brooke Lynn Hytes.

Brock’s hand was tightening around his phone. Steve didn’t waver, though.

“Yeah, I have,” whenever Brock became angry or annoyed Steve turned into an even nicer and steadier version of himself. You couldn’t win in a face-off with cold and furious Brock.

You could, however, diffuse the tension by not engaging.

“You can’t!” Brock’s pale and shallow face seemed to gain a little colour from his sheer anger, though to Steve it sounded whinier than anything.

Brock was a professional, deep down inside he knew that Steve was right.

“As your manager, I can and have because you are a mess. Letting you do a gig with him. In this condition? No way,” he kept his calm, trying to seem less like the best friend why was walking around in his own home with a pair of shorts on coupled with a black mesh shirt, and more like the manager that made sure that Brooke was always represented in the best possible way.

“I am not-” Brock didn’t care for that, but Steve merely raised his hand and soldiered on, needing to get his point across.

“As your best friend? I am worried about you and your physical and mental health. So yeah, I’ve cancelled the next couple of gigs,” Steve softened his voice, knowing that getting tough or angry wouldn’t help when dealing with a Brock that was drowning in his emotions.

“I…” the fact that he didn’t have an immediate come back was enough for Steve to take it as a win.

He looked at the iPhone in Brock’s hand and made a snap decision.

“Give me your phone,”

Any other day and Steve would have laughed at the petulant way Brock pulled his hand back, trying to hide his phone from Steve.

“No. Steve. I can’t just fall off the face of the planet for a week,” Brock was trying very hard to hide his desperation behind his sense of responsibility to his fans, but deep down Steve knew that the reason for keeping the phone had less to with giving the fans content and more about keeping an eye on him.

“I’ll be posting for you,” he could pretend to be BLH for a week, he’d done it before.

But Brock merely snorted, his face scrunched into an annoyed grimace, the blankets bunched up around him, his face scruffy from not getting shaved for a couple of days.

He looked like shit and it only helped to strengthen Steve’s resolve to give Brock a week off.

“How is that going to look, think about the optics for a second? Me cancelling all my gigs and then not doing a live or something? Steve… that’s not me, I always apologise!”

He was right though. Brooke always apologised if something went wrong. She was a professional through and through.

“Okay. Let’s make a deal then. You do a live and then you give me your phone for the rest of the week?” Steve could see the hesitation, the way Brock seemed almost scared to hand over the phone, scared to let go of Vanjie for a week.

_These two idiots._

“The Branjie gig?” Steve wanted to groan in annoyance at the mentioning of that gig. He had tried to get Brock to say no ever since it was first suggested, but in the end, his veto rights had been revoked.

That train accident was inevitable, even though Steve wanted to push the break on the wagon and force all the passengers off the train.

“Haven’t cancelled that one yet, though I think you should,” the sigh of relief from his friend made Steve’s heart break a little.

If only he could see what he was doing to himself.

* * *

_Lying on a grey couch in a black t-shirt and with his air pods in Brock looked tired. His face was pale and the bags under his eyes seemed big enough to stove away an entire family of trolls._

_There wasn’t a lot of sound on the video, as Brock’s eyes were going back and forth, reading on the comments of his screen._

_“Hi. Hi. Aw, I love you too.” his voice was slightly hoarse, indicating that he was probably getting a little ill, “Thank you. Hi Mexico. Hi Brazil.” He smiled softly at the screen as he sat back up, trying to find the perfect light, after a bit of fumbling, he seemed to find it._

_“Okay, so the truth is that I was going to be at Roscoe’s tonight for market days, but I’ve had to cancel, ‘cause I’m ill,” his eyes shifted downwards, reading a comment on the screen, “Yeah, I know. I look like shit,” the small laugh seemed sadder than anything, but instead of wallowing, Brock kept on going._

_“It sucks, cause’ I was really looking forward to the gig. I love Roscoes and Chicago. I promise you all that we are already trying to find a different date to come back for all of you who were hoping to see me,” laying back down on the couch, Brock seemed sadder than before, his brows wrinkling and his mouth downturned. In the back, a voice could be heard, though it was indistinguishable._

_“I hate cancelling, and I would have gone too, but... Steve said no,” Brock’s eyes seemed to stray from the screen, looking at something behind the camera, as his lips unconsciously turning upwards in a small and cute smile, but then his attention once again turned to the screen. Reading the tons of hearts, get better’s, and comments from the viewers._

_“Yeah, dad put his foot down,” his laugh was sweet, though his eyes seemed sad. For a moment Brock read over the comments, until he suddenly turned the camera around, showing Steve on the screen, sitting in a chair typing away on his Mac._

_“Steve?” Brock’s smiling voice could be heard, as Steve lifted his head, his face folded into worried wrinkles for a second until he noticed the camera, instantly plastering on an easy smile. “The children say hi,” Brock’s high pitch voice was almost song like, as Steve shook his head at his friends’ antics._

_“Hello, children,” the little side smirk and warm eyes made the comments on the like go insane, a flood of heart eye emoji, ‘we love you Steve’ and more suggestive comments started ticking in._

_Brock turned the camera back to himself, his eyes scanning the comments at lightning speed._

_“Ungrateful little shits, they love you more than me,” Brock’s head was slightly turned, clearly talking to Steve, who merely laughed at Brock’s comment._

_For a moment, Brock’s smile seemed to reach his eyes, his face losing some of its sickly notes._

_Just a moment, though, as Brock looked back into the lense._

_“Yeah, I just wanted to give you all an update. Now I’ll go back to getting better and hopefully we won’t have to cancel more gigs,” in the background Steve could be heard mumbling something too low to be decipherable. Brock, however, gave a short laugh at the comment._

_“Unless dad says so,” he shook his head and took a moment to look over all the comments one more time, “But yeah, bye. Love you all,” and with a small kiss and a soft smile, the screen went black, ending the live._

* * *

The energy at Roscoe’s was electrifying with a star-studded lineup of Rugirls coupled with some amazing local queens and the warm summer weather. All the ingredients for an amazing evening were present.

Except.

Vanjie couldn’t help but notice the empty space that was almost glaringly obvious. The meet and greet had been filled with sighs over the missed opportunity of seeing the current reigning, who was apparently too ill to be there.

The same queen, less than a week ago, had thrown a notebook at Vanjie and then proceeded to completely ghost her.

A notebook that made Ryan Gosling in ‘The Notebook’ look like an underachiever.

It was filled with the numerous declarations of love and anguish and hurt. With tear streaks, ink marks and if Vanjie looked closely at the pages she swore she could see tiny pieces of a broken heart mixed in with the anguished words.

Vanjie had sobbed uncontrollably the first time she read it.

The second time she felt her heart break a little.

And now here at the third read through?

_She was pissed._

Pissed that Brooke had assumed instead of talking to her.

Pissed that she had never stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, Brooke might want more than sex.

They were idiots.

“Miss Vanjie, what’s with the sour puss face?” the deep imitation of her voice made her spin around, suddenly realising that she was standing backstage. The deep bass of Detox’s number following the beat of her own heart.

Looking at her with a mischievous glint in her eye and a large, heart-warming smile was the ever motherly and lovely Nina West.

“I ain’t souring any pussy, hoe! I’m good, I’m great… I’m the motherfucking best, Miss Nina!” The moment the words left her mouth, Vanjie knew that she wasn’t fooling no hoe. She had never been a good liar, especially not when it came to the sweetest of sweets, Miss Congeniality.

“Repeating something three times, does not make it any more convincing, sweetie,” the sad smile told Vanjie that the jig was up and that she might as well bite in that sour ass apple and ask what she wanted - no needed - to hear.

“I’m good. I just… you heard from Brock?” The question made Nina uncomfortable.

She was wringing her hands.

Trying to avoid looking Vanjie in the eye.

Was it that bad?

“I…” She seemed to steel herself, taking a deep breath, looking down at her feet instead of into Vanjie’s eyes.

Fuck, it was bad.

“You don’t need to be telling me any dets, Mary. I just gotta know if he good,” Vanjie lowered her voice, not wanting to catch the attention of the numerous people that were all scampering around them, trying to put on make-up, have a kiki and drink some more booze all at the same time.

“Vanj. I don’t know what to tell you, other than… Steve’s taking care of him,” Nina’s eyes seemed to be pleading with Vanjie to not force her to reveal more.

Vanjie got that.

She knew that she was being a bit unfair cornering Nina like this, forcing her to tattle on her good Judy.

But a bitch was desperate.

“Okay. That’s good, right?” Steve would make sure that Brock didn’t do anything stupid. He would keep him from self-destructing too badly.

_Hopefully._

“I think it’s what he needs right now,” hidden between those words were a clear and well-meaning ‘back the fuck off, Vanjie’.

Not that she had ever been able to tiptoe any subject.

She be like an elephant in a motherfucking glasshouse or some shit.

Big, clumsy and loud as shit.

“Yeah. He ain’t answering me tho. None of my texts. Nada. Zilch. No word, no read, no passive-aggressive Insta story, no nothing. Doesn’t sound like, Miss last word Hytes, does it?”

“I think choosing not to answer is an answer in itself,”

Nina’s words made Vanjie stop.

Though they had been said nicely, they hit her right where it hurt the most.

She could feel her blood starting to boil, her guards up as she was ready to pop off louder than a champagne bottle.

“What the fuck is that ‘sposed to mean? Don’t give me this riddle me this, riddle me that bull, Nina. You sayin’ that he be writing me 50 pages of love that would make a teenage girl swoon,” herself included, “and then he ain’t gon’ be able to back it up?” Despite standing two feet away from Nina, Vanjie felt like she was almost yelling it into her face.

She was thankful that Detox’s music was still playing the background, deftly hiding her Brock-induced breakdown number 261.

Nina wasn’t fazed. She knew Vanjie, knew that her feelings were always out in the open. Vanjie wasn’t angry at her, she was angry at the situation.

At Brock.

At herself.

“Are you going to?” Nina’s voice seemed to knock the air out of Vanjie, as she almost deflated at the calm and quiet tone of the larger queen.

“Going to what, Mary?”

“Back it up? As far as he knows, you don’t care that much for him,”

Fuck.

Shit.

Vanjie had never.

“I…”

_Never actually said anything._

“Vanj. José… Brock is an idiot. He doesn’t understand subtlety when it comes to other people. You need to show, tell and probably draw it for him to understand,”

* * *

  
After a day or two on the couch at Steve and Jon’s apartment in Chicago, they had travelled to Toronto. Brock had been adamant that they would not cancel the Branji gig no matter what.

Steve, in turn, had simply shrugged and continued keeping his phone hostage.

Idiot.

The only problem was that Brock’s phone kept vibrating every few hours. Steve had long since put it on silent as the calls kept on coming from friends and colleagues that were bewildered and worried over the fact that Brooke Lynn Hytes had cancelled a gig.

The only calls he had been allowed to screen was from Nina and Brandon Voss.

The rest?

Well, they just kept on vibrating until they reached the voicemail.

Steve wasn’t playing around this time.

Sitting on the couch in the frankly too big hotel room with a cup of coffee in his hand, he once again heard the annoying buzzing coming from somewhere close to Steve.

“Is that my phone?” Brock tried to go for a nonchalant tone, hoping that Steve would take it as him being curious rather than being a persistent ass, who was feeling his FOMO in every cell of his body.

“You’re not getting your phone back, Brock,” he didn’t even look up from his Mac or stop hos typing for even a second.

_Annoyingly capable and loving asshole._

“Steve. It keeps on ringing, it might be important,”

“If it’s important, they’ll call me.” Which was, unfortunately, true, as everyone knew that Steve was the go-to person for everything related to Brooke Lynn Hytes - some days even Brock Hayhoe.

_The adult he needed but oftentimes didn’t deserve._

Brock groaned theatrically as he felt his fingers itch to take back his phone, making the clacking stop as Steve finally deigned to look up from his screen.

The patient smile was mirrored that of a parent simply dealing with a temper tantrum.

“Go take a shower and eat something, and after that, we are going to the zoo!” Brock knew that none of those things were up for discussion. Though to be fair he wanted to go to the Zoo, looking at the lions and tigers made up for him not having seen Henry and Apollo for almost a month.

“I hate you,”

Didn’t stop him being childish.

“Love you, too,”

Nor stop Steve from being the best thing in his life.

* * *

> _[A picture of Brock in shorts and a tank top standing close to a fence, behind it is a lion. Brock looks happy. The sun is shining and the grass and leaves are all green]_
> 
> Liked by **vanessavanjie**, **ninawest** and 43.592 others  
**Bhytes**: Just a boy and his lion.  
_96 comments_  
**Barbiehytes**: look at that perfect grammar *wipes away proud tear*

* * *

It was almost comical the way this scenario seemed to become a habit.

Vanjie was taking her time putting on her mug, applying and then reapplying her Fenty Killawatt highlighter, painting for the back row just like Alexis had taught her. Admiring her fishy face, knowing that it was unclockable.

Her iPhone was leaning against her half-empty foundation, A’keria looking unamused, as Vanjie retold her everything that had happened since the last time they spoke.

“Guuuuurl,” the drawn-out word felt like a slap at the back of her head, even if A’keria was on the other side of the country.

_The power that had._

“I know, I done fucked up,” Vanjie kept her focus on the mirror, not wanting to meet the judgemental stare that would be mixed with painful pity. It would make her eyes water and goddamn it, her face was beat for the Gods.

No way she was redoing all of this.

“From what I be understanding ya both done fucked up,” the long pause forced Vanjie to look down at her phone, knowing that A’keria wouldn’t settle for getting ignored, when she was being a wise auntie, “messy lil hoes,” the small smile on her lips made Vanjie instantly forgive the shade.

“Bitch…” Though she that didn’t stop her from being slightly hurt from it. Vanjie could keep the smile off her lips though.

Trust Kiki to read her and make her smile for the first time in days.

“What, am I wrong?” the raised boy brow and bluish tinted weave took Vanjie back to a pink workroom and for a moment she felt homesick for that time.

Though it had been stressful and hard and mostly horrible it had also given her so much.

Silky. A’keria. The dream girls.

Brock.

_Don’t._

“Nah.” shaking her head half in agreement with Kiki and half to remove the thought spiral that her mind was going down.

She didn’t need to think about this now. She didn’t have the time or the energy to spend her evening redialing Brock’s number, hoping that he would pick up.

‘Cause he wouldn’t.

A small tut from the phone brought her back to reality and the slightly concerned look she was receiving from the small screen of her phone.

“So what ya gon’ do about it?” A’keria’s head was tilted slightly, the glint in her eyes giving Vanjie big momma vibes.

“I’m gon tell him,” in fact, that was what she had been trying to do ever since he had left that dressing room.

_Except the mothershitting idiot wouldn’t pick up his stupid ass phone._

Kiki was oddly quiet, as Vanjie rummaged through her makeup purse, searching for that red lipstick that made her lips pop harder than her pussy.

With a small cry of victory, she snatched up the stunna lip paint, sending a small prayer to her lord and saviour, Rihanna.

Looking back at the silent A’keria on the screen, Vanjie finally noticed the stink eye she was receiving.

“What?”

“You think that a good idea? Now I know you be reading your horoscope and yo think that mean that you is some Obama type of soulmates… but boo. You are busy bitches that don’t see each other that often. You gon be fine with that?”

Fucking Kiki channelling her inner Lizzo and making Vanjie realise that truth hurts.

_Should’ve called Silky._

“I ain’t trying to be a bitch, I just worry,” A’keria had clocked the lines of sadness that had broken through her layers of perfect Vanjie - showcasing José and his ripped up paper heart.

“I love him, tho,”

She felt like a child admitting that she liked Joe from the playground even though he kept on pulling on her pigtails.

Except in this scenario, Joe was a 6’3 Canadian with no fashion sense and a smirk that would make Natalie Dormer quiver.

“I know you do, baby,”

_Everyone, but Brock._

“So what am I gon’ do Keeks?”

“I think you best give him some time to chill, sounds like he ain’t doin’ great. Also, don’t you idiots got that stupid Branjie gig?”

At the mentioning of the Branjie gig, Vanjie felt a shiver of nervousness run through her body. The gig had always seemed more like a joke than anything. Yet, after Amsterdam, the joke seemed to be more on her than the fans.

“Maybe? I ain’t sure he won’t go cancelling on me,” She shrugged as she unscrewed the lipstick, knowing that call time for the gig was soon, and no way was she kakaka-ing without her lips being on point.

“Cancelling? Miss Hytes? Get outta here ‘Ness!” On any other day, she would have agreed with A’keria…

_but…._

“She cancelled Roscoe’s?” She was still shook over that, never having heard of Brooke cancelling a single show. Once watching her from the audience, knowing that she had a fever.

“Did you see her live tho, bitch looked about ready to keel over, and-” Vanjie had seen the live, and she had noticed how shitty he looked. But that wasn’t an ill Miss Hytes, that was a sad Brock.

A very different creature and seemingly only created from Vanjie’s actions. Or perhaps, in this case, her inability to actually do something.

Vanjie’s musings had filtered out A’keria’s voice, but she was brought back again, as she mentioned Instagram.

“-but he just posted a pic with a lion, so I am pretty sure hell will freeze over before that cold-ass professional reigning hoe will cancel a show, especially back in Toronto,”

That motherfucking picture.

What did it mean? He looked happy. Calm. Good.

_So why the fuck hadn’t he answered her?_

“She posted??” Vanjie tried to force some shock into her voice, not wanting to let her friend know that she had gone over every single detail of the picture.

From the pose to the choice of filter.

_Sierra. Really Brock? You basic hoe._

“Like you ain’t got the hoe on notifications… Stop trying to make it seem like you haven’t looked at it at least 20 times by now.” Trust A’keria to know her too well and see right through her bullshit.

“Fuck you,”

“Proving my point”

“If you say so,”

“I know so. Now you best get you ass down to the bar you be performing at and shake all you gots to get them coins, ya hear,”

“I hear,”

Blowing kisses at the phone she hung up and smacked her lips.

She looked fierce, fish and fabulous.

Even if she felt like shit.

Right as she was about to leave the dressing room, her phone started buzzing. The caller ID made her heart skip a beat and her stomach drop.

> ** _Terror Toes is calling. _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all, too. <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to artificialdane for being a babe and looking everything over. You the best boo! <3 <3

“_Hey,_” Brock’s crinkling voice made Vanjie’s heart stop, everything inside of her wanted to jump through the phone so she could look at his face.

She wanted to analyse him, be a better Nancy Drew than Reddit could ever hope to be just so she could know how the fuck he was doing.

“Hey? That it? That the best you can do, hoe?” The words left her mouth without her wanting to. Those were not the words she had prepared, not how she wanted to break this silence.

Not that her mouth cared. Apparently, she was angrier than she thought, her hand tightening its grip on the phone.

For a second she was afraid that would break it.

“_I know. I’m sorry… Fuck, I know that I’ve been an idiot, who hasn’t answered but everything been… A bit all over the place. I just wanted to give you a head’s up and let you know that I’m not cancelling the gig on Friday,_” his voice sounded sincere. The rambling a big hint at this being for real instead of the soulless bullshit Brock was known to spew when he wanted to get out of a convo real quick.

It didn’t stop Vanjie from being pissed.

“How mighty fine of you to let me know. Three days before. You the biggest dumbass, Miss Hytes,” Vanjie tried to keep everything under control.

Her eyes caught sight of the clock and she realised that she would soon have to on stage.

She couldn’t be popping off before she went and made the crowd go wild.

It wouldn’t end well.

“_Vanj-_”

“Don’t you be Vanjie’ing me, Brock! You a professional hoe, you know this ain’t right!” Yelling into the phone, Vanjie was met by silence.

The heavy breathing on the other end, the only sign that Brock hadn’t hung up.

And then.

“_I know. I suck,_” the deep sigh at the other end made Vanjie smile a bit, she knew how much effort it took for Brock to admit that.

It made it taste all the sweeter when he agreed with her.

“Yeah, you do,” was she being petty for rubbing it in?

Yes. Did she care?

Nope. The asshole had ghosted her for almost a whole week.

“_We should meet tomorrow-_”

“Ya think?”

“_-so we can make sure that we have an idea of how we are going to handle this. Steve mentioned that we could treat it like a Branjie funeral, and the-_”

Everything turned to static.

_A funeral?_

Vanjie’s eyes strayed over to one of her many bags, a ratty and used notebook peeking out.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did the stupid ass notebook mean nothing then?

Did he want to forget everything?

“_-I think it might make it easier with the fans. I know how much all the tags and reposts have been driving you nuts. I just want to make all of this easier for you. It’s not fair that you have to deal with me, even after we’ve broken up,_” Brock was rambling again, though Vanjie had difficulty wrapping her mind around all of it.

What the hell did he mean with a funeral?

“Steve thinks it be good?” Vanjie tried to cling onto that. Steve was the voice of reason, and usually always had both Vanjie and Brooke’s interest at heart.

“_Yeah. I also checked with Jason... and well… he didn’t seem opposed, either?_” his hesitancy was well reasoned, as Vanjie felt betrayed at Brock having gone behind her back, to speak directly with her manager.

That Jason and Steve worked for the same company was not important at all.

_Bitch._

“Oh, so you talkin’ with Jas, but ain’t me?” Vanjie looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.

What the actual fuck was going here?

“_I’m sorry,_” the apology did nothing to soothe her anger, as it seemed less genuine, after having been stated and restated too many times to count.

“Yeah, you seem to be sayin' that a lot,” her snide remark was once again met with silence, only egging Vanjie on.

That fact that Brock wasn’t engaging felt wrong.

Not like them.

Guess that was the point.

There wasn’t a _them_ anymore.

“_Vanj. Please,_”

“Yeah okay. Wanna met at the coffee place we went last time, we can discuss everything there. We still be doing the mini skirts and shit, right?” Months earlier, before all of this bullshit, Vanjie and Brock had spent an evening going over the plans for the gig.

Deciding that it would be one big lip-sync extravaganza, with matching slutty outfits and tongue-in-cheek ranting on the side.

A very different mood than that of a funeral.

“_Of course! I’ve been looking forward to showing my best Barbie realness ever since we planned this,_” Brock’s laugh made Vanjie’s insides twist and turn, making jumps and spins that would’ve made Simone Biles gasp with envy.

“Aight. Imma be off, B. I gots to get me some coins!” She had about five minutes, before curtain call, and she needed to shake off this Brock-induced melodrama bullshit before she stomped on that stage.

“_Good luck,_” his low voice made her ache.

Before she had the chance to say more or do anything to fuck this up even further she hung up, getting ready to walk out of the dressing room.

Yet, just as she was about to close the door, her mind seemed to pick out some of the ranting Brock had done.

_“I just want to make all of this easier for you. It’s not fair that you have to deal with me, even after we’ve broken up,”_

What the shitting fuck was that supposed to mean?

* * *

The bustle from the café kept Brock sane, as he was sitting at a table in the back. He was happy that Vanjie had suggested meeting somewhere out in public. It would force them to be civil.

Brock didn’t know how everything was going to go. After having had a few days away from his phone and days to drink heavy amounts of tequila, his brain oddly enough seemed clearer.

He had meant every word in that Notebook.

_Still did._

But he had been unfair to José. You can’t force someone to love you, and getting angry at them for not doing that is not only incredibly stupid but also insanely mean.

So he would put it all behind him.

Plaster on a smile and make José believe that it was all okay.

Maybe that would make it true.

A buzz from his phone alerted him to a new text. For some reason, his heart sped up, as he noticed the number.

_ **Cats can spend up to a third of their awake time grooming themselves - CG** _

Even though he had only just met Seth, the lovely and almost disgustingly sexy animal caretaker at the zoo, once, he had started to take up his mind and time.

Brooke knew that he was rebounding.

Knew the signs of it.

_ **Are you flirting with me through cat facts? - B** _

Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to put a stop to it.

_ **Depends. Is it working? - CG** _

Perhaps, because everything with José hurt so much.

_ **Maybe - B** _

Perhaps because it was nice to feel wanted without all the baggage.

** _Well maybe I am, then - CG_ **

Either way, he made Brock smile. Something that wasn’t particularly easy to manage at the moment.

And if he had to get through these next couple of days with his ex-turned-lover-turned-fuckbuddy-turned-ex then he needed something good.

If that was Seth, who was not only sexy and tall and everything that was not Jose, but also a nice and sweet guy.

Well, really. He could easily have picked a much worse rebound.

* * *

Seeing Brock for the first time after that night in Stockholm was weird.

José noticed him hiding in the back with what was almost a signature look of a ratty t-shirt, those ridiculous pleather shorts and a cap.

He looked stupid.

He looked like shit.

He looked like_ home._

José felt his heartbeat a little faster. A little harder. A little meaner.

All the words he wanted to say, but couldn’t, were stuck in his throat as he opened the door to the tiny café.

The jingle at the door didn’t seem to catch Brooke’s attention as he was tapping quickly on his phone, a relaxed smile on his lips.

José tried to wrack his brain for the last time he had been at the receiving end of such a soft smile from Brock and came up empty.

Fucking hell.

“Hello, hello, hello,” going for the joke, turning his voice rougher, trying to mirror his acting from the show, José swallowed all the other words he wanted to say.

_I missed you._

_I hate you._

_I love you._

Brock’s eyes snapped up at his voice, whatever happening on his phone suddenly forgotten. José could have wept at the sight of those clear blue eyes.

“Hey,”

“Bitch. Gots to admit, I thought your ass gone and died on us. Cancellin’ three gigs? I almost gone and called Ru herself and to ask we be mournining or somethin’, cause the reigning hoe went to heaven,” José’s mouth ran its own show. The words never even registering in his mind, before they were voiced out loud.

Going by Brock’s amused smile, he wasn’t saying anything that was insulting.

Thank God.

José sat down across from Brock, noting the way his hands seemed to shake just a tiny bit.

Maybe he was still a bit sick.

“Steve was being cautious, I was a mess when I…” Brock’s faltering was underlined by the low buzzing, his eyes shifted down to it, a small blush dusting his cheek.

_Brock. Blushing?_

_What the fuck._

“I think the jetlag and the high pace of DXP got to me. So Steve chained me to the couch, took my phone hostage and made me watch every episode of Golden Girls. It was nice. But I felt bad, there’s a lot of people I let down and a lot of fans that were disappointed. Which I get, I mean I was supposed to be there, some of them had travelled a long way for nothing and-” José raised a hand, hoping to stop Brock’s spiral of worrying.

“Calm down, Mary. Hold them horses, hooves and zebras. You ain’t needing to convince me. I seen how you worked your ass off,” José kept his voice light, even though his insides were burning with unasked questions.

He wanted to ask about the notebook.

He wanted to know the real reason for the cancelled gigs.

He wanted to know about the blush and the texts.

But that wasn’t his job anymore.

So instead.

“Now how ‘bout this Branjie gig, then? We gon break twitter, Tumblr, Reddit and whatever the fuck these kids be using?” Brock’s light laugh made José feel warm all over. All the anger and all the annoyance from last night forgotten as he got to actually look at Brock.

His light stubble, strong arms and clear eyes making José feel right at home.

Even if he had locked himself out and thrown away the key to said home

“We can certainly try,” the soft laughter lines around his eyes made Brock look softer.

José had expected him to look like shit.

Expected Brock to look sadder.

More drained.

Not whatever _this_ was.

Perhaps it was petty of José, but he had hoped that Brock would seem more crushed.

Going by the contents of the notebook, he had expected that Brock would’ve been heartbroken over the loss of José.

For some reason that hurt José more than anything.

“That’s the spirit, bitch. Now let’s get planning!” he clapped his hands together, hoping that Brock wouldn’t clock that José was feeling almost disappointed that he wasn’t being met by a brokenhearted ex.

* * *

>   
**Brooke Lynn Hytes @Bhytes1 - 2 hours ago**  
Y'all need to let branjie go. It's over. We have moved on. I love Jose so much. He is kind, loyal, funny (and crazy) and I love spending time with him and am so happy he is my FRIEND. We will always have love for each other and have each other's backs..

* * *

Seeing José hurt more than words could even begin to cover. His easy smile, kind eyes and frankly ridiculous words were everything Brock needed.

Wanted.

Missed.

Going over the plan for the show, Brock wanted to throw up. When Steve had first mentioned the idea of the gig being a “Branjie funeral”, Brock had left the room.

Thankfully he had days to perfect his fake smiles and giggles for when he had to present an idea to José.

“How much we drinkin’?” José seemed distracted as he wrinkled his nose at the pancakes in front of him.

_Typical him._

He hated pancakes but liked the look of them. So he always ended up ordering them, only to end up eating nothing.

“Steve wants me to cut down, but he’s not the one who will be on stage for who knows how long with his dick tucked behind his balls,” Brock pushed his bowl of fruit towards José, knowing that he would eat them since all the fruit left were either apples or strawberries.

They were Brock’s favourite, so he always left them for last.

“So what I hearing is, we been drinking a fuck ton?” José’s eyes lit up, as he started munching on the fruit.

Brock felt warmth flow through his body, the sights of those brown eyes crinkling with happiness all he needed.

His phone buzzed again, but he kept his focus on José, knowing that it was a temporary joy.

“Yeah. If it’s a funeral, we might as well get properly drunk for the wake, eh?” The words felt like ashes in his mouth, he hoped that his acting skills had gotten better since the show and that José had no clue that having this…

Funeral was one of the last things he wanted to do.

“You betcha,” José seemed oblivious to Brock’s eternal battle as he gobbled down the fruit, making a tiny happy sound, that reminded Brock of Sunday mornings in various hotels.

Hidden away from the world.

Just the two of them.

“Brock?” The hesitant use of his name made Brock’s eyes focus back on the presence, as his thoughts had taken him back to easier times.

José seemed to have shrunk in on himself, managing to both look and sound smaller than he actually was.

“Yeah?”

“We good? I know Stockholm was-” all alarms sounded inside his head. Bile rose in his mouth and every fight or flight instinct told him to get the fuck out of that café that very instant.

“Let’s not get into that,” how he managed to sit still and keep his voice fairly even was a feat more mysterious than Vanjie not winning the makeover challenge.

“-a shit show. But I just gots to know. We good? You gon be good doin’ this cause I mean I read the-” for a second Brock felt as if he was having an out of body experience.

If this conversation continued Brock would either say something he would regret, bawl his eyes or both.

_Probably both._

“Please. Let’s not.” Brock cut off José, hoping that he would understand that the matter was not up for discussion.

He couldn’t handle one more rejection.

_Not right now._

“Aight… Just, you can tell me, ‘kay?” The earnestness in his voice coupled with the way he leaned forward, catching Brock’s eyes in a look that felt like warmth, home and pain.

_I really couldn’t._

_I really fucking couldn’t, Papi._

“I know,”

* * *

> _[A picture of Brock and José sitting in the café. They are clearly laughing as José pushes a plate of pancakes towards Brock. The quality of the picture is shaky, clearly zoomed in and taken by someone who was trying to seem stealthy.]_
> 
> Liked by **93** others  
**Branjiefan22**: just saw vanjie and brooke in a café. They looked real happy and cute so y’all better get them clown shoes on ‘cause the bus is ready to go #branjie  
23 comments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for everything be a little darker, a little sadder and a little worse. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet & Greet, bitches.

The last couple of days had been hard. Being this close to José - talking, joking and planning - was difficult. 

Well-known patterns and ingrained behaviour made themselves known. How Brock always ordered an extra portion of the food he knew José liked, just in case that the thing he had himself had ordered wouldn’t be just what he needed. 

Brock found himself keeping an extra eye out for José - checking in and checking up on him. Looking for any indication that he was feeling tired, overworked or just any other negative emotion. 

He seemed happy. 

Carefree. 

_ Good. _

It was nice that at least _one_ of them was doing okay. 

The loud bang of a door closing brought Brock back to earth. Sitting in his hotel room, surrounded by costumes, make-up and suitcases, it was easy to remember that all glamour connected to drag was a lie - it often just consisted of commuting and shitty hotels room. 

“Three hours until we leave, and you’re still not in full drag? Has hell frozen over or have you finally decided to be more human?” Courtney’s loud and happy voice, brought Brock out of his funk, his friend, race chaser turned queen turned assistant always able to put a smile on his. 

The buzz of his phone distracted him from answering her. Sliding his phone open he couldn’t keep a short laugh from escaping his lips. 

** _ A female cat is a called a ‘queen’ - CG _ **

“What?” Courtney dropped her impossible pile of bags on the floor and walked closer to Brock, though he didn’t give it much thought, his focus solely on the way his heartbeat had sped up, while a small genuine smile was fighting its way across his lips. 

“Oh, just… you know,” the words were distracted as he tapped out his response, feeling like a schoolboy flirting for the first time. 

** _ Now you’re just making stuff up - B _ **

Or was it more like a child getting caught doing something that he wasn’t supposed to be doing? 

Seth had kind of become his own little secret. 

The flirting. The texts and phone calls. 

The meeting for coffee yesterday. 

It all felt so clandestine. 

Immature. 

Exhilarating. 

** _ I would never! - CG _ **

“Is it Vanjie?” Courtney’s question seemed innocent enough but made it run cold down his back. Of course, that would be the first person, she would be thinking about. 

“No, It’s…” trailing off, he suddenly got an idea. 

Quickly tapping out the text, he sent it before his heart and mind caught up to each other, knowing that they wouldn’t agree with his actions. 

** _ You coming tonight? - B _ **

“It’s someone else,” Seeing the wide-eyed excitement in Courtney’s eyes was a nice change from the tiredness of Steve and full-on #teammom worry from Nina. 

Trust, Courtney to see the light in everything.

** _ I might... you sure that would be a good idea, though? - CG _ **

“Uhhhhh… Does this someone else have a name?” The waggling of her brow made a high pitched giggle escape Brock’s lips, which in turn made both of them laugh loudly. 

_ Fuck, he had missed this. _

“Seth,” A small wave of… something filled his stomach as he wrote a reply. 

Feeling - no, knowing - that he wanted. 

_ Needed. _

Seth to be there tonight. 

** _Why wouldn’t it be? - B_ **

“Okay… I need details, so where did you meet. Is it serious or just a booty call. Come on, Hytes. Help a single, spinster out here!”

* * *

> _ [a selfie of Brooke sitting in the backseat of some non-distinct car. She is wearing a blonde wig with bangs, heavy pink make-up and her trademark Fenty Uncuffed lipstick. A pink and shiny blazer can be glimpsed together with a small and thin necklace with a mommy pendant] _
> 
> Liked by **ninawest**, **panther445** & **23.544** others
> 
> View all 347 comments

* * *

The energy at the meet and greet was thick, heavy and excited. The buzz of the fans, coupled with Courtney and Jaime’s pure joy at taking part in the gig was taking Vanjie to a higher place. 

Brooke and her looked fierce in their matching skirts. Vanjie was living her Rihanna fantasy, a look that had quickly become signature for her ever since the season ended. Next to her was Brooke in a pink-barbie dream that made Vanjie want to leave the venue this instance just to take Brooke apart and put her back together. 

She was hot.

Beautiful.

Every bit the current reigning, 90s top model and high-end escort that was the BLH brand. 

The wig was correct and the mug was beat for the gods, shit, even the eye makeup was all pink.

A much-needed departure from the regular shades of purple and black. 

Something seemed off, though. 

Brooke’s eyes kept straying over to the entrance, searching for something. 

_ Or someone. _

Her smile seemed stiffer, their in-jokes and banter a little more off-beat than usual. 

Vanjie knew that they still needed to talk about Stockholm. Needed to have a conversation about that motherfucking notebook.

But now was clearly not the time nor the place.

“Hi baby, you look fierce, Mary!” As another girl walked up to get her picture taken with them, Vanjie was pulled out of her musings, wanting to give every fan the best possible experience. 

Turning to take the picture, Brooke consoling the almost crying girl, Vanjie was once again reminded of how weird this whole gig was. 

All the planning all the talks, the fact that they were playing it off as a funeral didn’t sit right with her. It was all just…

Weird. 

Wrong.

_ Bad. _

Every word of agreement, every nod of approval had felt painful.

Vanjie didn’t want this to be the end. 

Didn’t want to go back to being full-on exes. 

She wanted her jush. 

Wanted stupid ass Facetime convos and the office marathons. 

Wanted Brooke to give her that soft smile and warm eyes, that made everything okay.

* * *

Brooke’s feet were hurting. Standing still in heels for more than 20 minutes at a time always made her even more impressed by women who did this day in and day out. 

The fans were many and all in a celebratory mood, their energy high couple with the usual small breakdowns and lots of hugs.

Yet, Brooke found her eyes continuously straying over to the door, searching for one particular fan. 

Or maybe it wasn’t so much a fan as it was her very-bad-not-clever-or-good decision of inviting her rebound to the gig that finalised her break-up with what could only be defined as the current love of her life.

Surely, better decisions could have been made. 

_ Not that she cared. _

Vanjie’s continuous stream of words and praise at every fan made Brooke warm inside, it felt right. 

It felt like home. 

Yet, the moment Brooke’s eyes landed on the shy smile of Seth, everything else seemed to fade away.

You’re an idiot. 

Walking over to Courtney, her friend immediately focusing the camera in her hand on her, she softly whispered a “He’s here,” knowing by the cheeky smile on Courtney’s face that she knew what was up.

Her low whistle made Brooke feel like a teenager who was going on her first date. 

It was all too much.

It was just. So. Dumb. 

Brooke knew that she was being unfair to herself, to Seth and even to Vanjie. 

Why the fuck would she want all three of them in the same room, not to mention them having a picture taken with each other. 

Maybe she liked the hurt. 

Maybe she wanted Vanjie to hurt too. 

Or maybe. 

Just maybe. 

_ She was a fucking idiot. _

* * *

Vanjie felt her energy waver. 

Meet & greets were brutal even on the best of days, but standing here with Brooke, knowing that this might be the last time the two of them would do their Branjie thing together, was starting to settle all over her body. 

Brooke’s eyes still kept straying over to the door. 

Still searching. 

It was weird not being the centre of Brooke’s attention, Vanjie being used to bask in the glow of Brooke’s stare. 

The way her eyes normally traced every inch of her body. 

Tonight there had been nothing of that. 

Not even an inkling. 

“Well, don’t you look mighty fine, Miss Brooke Lynn,” the man walking towards them was tall, fit and sexy. Every part of him the trade that all drag queens hoped for when they did a gig. 

Brooke usually never seemed interested in playing the game of the race chasers, more prone to finding her one night stands out of drag and in a packed club. 

As he walked over and gave Brooke a hug, Vanjie noticed a slight blush on her cheeks. 

_ What. _

_ The. _

_ Shit? _

“Shut up,” The light push on the guy’s shoulder, coupled with a shy smile from Brooke made Vanjie feel dread all over. 

Who the fuck was this guy? 

Brooke clearly knew him, the easy smile and soft eyes a clear indication of a Brooke Lynn Hytes on the prowl. 

Vanjie knew that look.

Had been on the receiving end of it too many times to count. 

As they took a picture, Vanjie knew that her face was frozen.

She kept her distance from both of them - deciding instead to give her best the office stare at the camera. 

What the actual fuck?

“See you later, Seth,” Brooke’s voice held a lilt. A coquettish note that reminded Vanjie of trips to Chicago, backseat rides on the way towards set, and dressing room talks. 

Who was this guy, and how the hell had he managed to steal _ her _ Brooke? 

As Seth - what a shitty and ridiculous name - walked away, the next fan ready to jump in and fawn over them, Vanjie forced herself to seem brighter. 

Even though her insides were churning. 

Her tiny body overheating with barely held back anger.

** _ That. Bitch. _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all too. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry?


End file.
